It’s been nearly 20 years since I was introduced to Buck Curran’s music (in the form of Arborea). His unique playing style and approach to improvisation have always made his work occupy a specific place in my mind. On his new album, Illuminations, those methods are paired with the work of my favorite poet, Arthur Rimbaud, and the result is a little bit of magic. Curran’s guitar playing winds reflectively through the moods and spaces Rimbaud’s work evokes. A rawness edges this work, heightened by incidental moments of Curran’s daughter in the background, or his wife (who also appears on “Mystique,” reciting Rimbaud’s words) walking into the room during a session. It adds intimacy and quietly amplifies the personal nature of this special album.
Illuminations is OUT NOW on Island House.
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What are some of your earliest memories related to sound, not specifically music, but something that has stuck with you for all these years, when you first became aware of the world’s sonic nature?
I’d say my first exposure and memories with sound would have to be from music – as I was imbued by it growing up on Couzens Avenue, Hazel Park, Michigan (near 9 Mile Rd). The earliest sounds that had a substantial impact on me were hearing music on the radio at home or in the car, or records playing on my parents’ turntable. In particular, hearing people sing! The character and dynamics of their voices were something I heavily gravitated towards. In grade school, I briefly joined the choir because I loved singing so much – although after a while I became too self-conscious and shy to sing in a group. Still, I would walk around all the time singing for myself. As I grew older, I became equally attracted to the sound of the guitar through listening to the records of my parents, and especially when my father bought a guitar.
You spent a lot of your childhood listening to your parents’ vinyl collection. What are some of the records that you can still picture clearly or that you still love dearly?
My parents had an album that guitarist John Williams released in 1975 – John Williams Plays Bach: The Complete Lute Music on Guitar (I still have that record). In particular, Lute Suite No. 4 in E Major, BWV 1006a: III. Gavotte en Rondeau. That recording sent my mind reeling – it was profound and enigmatic, and I tried to understand how just one musician with a single instrument could generate such perfection of tone and sound… such beauty. My parents had an incredibly eclectic vinyl collection: a 45 of Dead Man’s Curve by Jan and Dean (from 1963). The dramatic presence of that record… with its spoken word section and car crash noises, the vocal harmonies. It was interesting to later find out that Brian Wilson co-wrote and sang background vocals; Jim Croce’s song Time in a Bottle; the cover of Tim Buckley’s Greetings from LA and the photo on the back cover of a postcard with the stamps of Buckley with a gas mask – it was really mysterious and fascinating and drew me into his world of sound; the Bee Gees Trafalgar… the cover and inside gatefold photo combined with the music created such magic. When I got old enough, I would travel around my surrounding neighborhood and cut lawns with a push mower and used the money I made to buy my very first 45s, Revolution and Eleanor Rigby by The Beatles.
You started playing guitar at 15. What was it about the instrument that you were drawn to? Do you remember the first thing you played that really felt like it was yours?
15 is when I began to seriously focus on the instrument. My interest in the guitar actually began years before – seeing Jimi Hendrix on fire performing Johnny B. Goode live in Berkeley (1970) on a film about that era – my parents had a 45 of the original song by Chuck Berry, so I already knew the song. My parents also owned a copy of Peter Frampton Frampton Comes Alive!. At some point, while living in Hazel Park, my father bought a Yamaha classical guitar and had an instructor come to our house to teach him. After a while, he stopped playing (feeling he didn’t have an ear for proper pitch), and that guitar (sitting under my parents’ bed) became a magnet for me. I would pull it out of the case as often as possible and explore sounds by playing single notes and listening to its timbres and sustain. I guess, as I didn’t have any knowledge of chords, I was more or less trying to generate vocal-like sounds with its single strings – inspired by the instrument itself – unfolding the mysteries which seem to inhabit the inside of that box of wood. That was a significant and idiosyncratic moment in time for me, and everything I discovered felt like some private revelation.
In Colorado, writing and reading poetry kind of took over your life for a bit and overshadowed music. What did poetry give you in that time that playing guitar couldn’t?
Poetry always coincided with my interest in music! In my mind, it’s an essential element of music. When I moved to Boulder, Colorado, in 95, the So, You’re a Poet poetry reading series (hosted by Thom Peters, who owns the ‘Beat Book Shop’) at Penny Lane coffee shop became a secondary outlet for creativity alongside my devotion to music and I began reading at the poetry nights every week. I understood poetry was something that could help develop better lyrics, and walking around Boulder, sitting in Penny Lane, or driving or hiking in the Rockies didn’t require having a band or an instrument – writing was something I could do solo whenever and wherever, and it felt liberating. At Penny Lane, I did meet some incredible poets! There was a small collective of poets that read and co-authored a book of poetry. One poet in particular (Christopher White) would memorize his poetry and read off the mic and walk around the room (like a Shakespearean actor) – his performances were really intense and dramatic, and it gave considerable weight to his words and elevated the readings in such a beautiful way! The first time I saw him read… I instantly thought to myself, now that’s how reciting poetry should be done! I followed suit immediately… memorizing every poem I wrote. I feel propelling your entire mind and body into the depths of a poem while reciting it — being naked in front of an audience without focusing on an external instrument… is the pinnacle way to go! Subsequently, it helped give me a better level of confidence when performing my music in front of people.
Can you talk a little about finding Rimbaud’s Illuminations back in 1997, and how it changed the way you wrote and composed?
When I first discovered Illuminations (at a second-hand shop in Ashland, Oregon, in August of 1997) – it was a Revelation! Rimbaud’s words had an immediate and profound impact on me. His use of language felt like a total immersion and comprehension of the world that he lived in and experienced, and I knew that here was a new voice of someone compellingly fascinated, immersed, and insatiably inspired by life. His writing was something I’d never quite encountered before. I felt an expansion of our world through his phrases, not just mere observations filtered through someone’s ego or intellect (as I’ve previously felt reading prose or poems written by other poets). His work feeling void of ego – is a stream of consciousness permeated with sensitivity, love, respect, joy, curiosity, revulsion, rejection, etc etc. – and ultimately a respect and reverence for everything that he saw and processed. His writing, also steeped in elements of mysticism, surrealism, and psychedelia, is a body of work that feels transcendental and remains timeless and greater than his physical age at the time or the consequence of any spirits or chemical substances he might have taken in moments throughout his day or perhaps during the process of writing.
Prior to discovering Illuminations (I discovered that book later in life when I’d already turned 30), the poetry of Percy Shelley, as a teenager, had been the most significant and revelatory literary discovery to me that had colossal influence! After Shelley, I discovered John Keats’ poem La Belle Dame sans Merci and A Refusal to Mourn the Death of a Child by Fire by Dylan Thomas. I found both poems in the collection Immortal Poems of the English Language, an anthology edited by Oscar Williams, and they crushed me profoundly and absolutely. Around that time I also made my first attempts at reading On the Road by Jack Kerouac – but for some reason I just didn’t connect with his writing. After moving to Boulder in 1995 and getting immersed in reading and writing poetry (after previously living in Norfolk, Virginia, for 5 years, where I worked at Ramblin Conrad’s Guitar shop and Folklore Center), I practically lived at Penny Lane coffee shop. However, in that period, I gravitated towards a style of writing inspired by Dylan Thomas. Fortunately, by chance one day, I stumbled upon a copy of Baudelaire Rimbaud and Verlaine: Selected Verse and Prose Poems (I believe I found it at the used bookshop Trident). For better or worse, the film about Rimbaud, Total Eclipse (which also came out in 95), fueled my interest in Rimbaud, and that book of selected poems was my subsequent introduction into the realms of Rimbaud and Baudelaire (and Verlaine). I immediately connected with that book and felt their poetry and prose were an evolution of works I’d previously read by Romantic poets like Keats and Shelley. And not only had they evolved poetry and prose – they created a revolution that liberated words and ideas. Although at the time, my best friend Jason Hylton kept trying to get me to read Kerouac, it wasn’t until the following year, when living in Dublin, Ireland that I became terribly homesick for America and finally appreciated his writing after reading Dharma Bums and Big Sur. Jason also introduced me to the poetry of Zen lunatics Ikkyu and Han Shan… thereafter I fell deeply in love with their poetry too. Upon returning to America in the spring of 1997, I found a copy of Sylvia Plath’s book Ariel while staying at my friend’s house in Norfolk, Virginia. Ariel is yet another book that had a significant impact on me. But having that collection of works by Baudelaire, Rimbaud, and Verlaine was a natural segue to Rimbaud’s Illuminations. As for changing the way I write poetry, lyrics, and music – discovering Rimbaud’s poetry and prose simply helped me realize that a greater, more expansive way of creativity was possible – it opened doors to vast worlds and unapologetically ushered in ways of existing that unify the corporeal with mind-spirit-soul, as well as surrealism and derangement of the senses.
What took so long to turn the book into a record?
The idea for Illuminations had been slowly manifesting itself over a very long period… but in a very loose way. The way I finally processed its realization was more about the manifestation of those incidental musical artifacts and particular moods that had been imparted within the recordings (moods and feelings that ensue when I read Rimbaud’s poetry and prose) and then marrying those musical artifacts that perfectly resonated together with particular poems from the book. I feel that this music could’ve only been possible through improvisation and a certain amount of serendipity.
What was it about “Mystic” that really hit you right away to the point that it became your favorite poem on the first reading?
That poem feels like some kind of sacred text – the way Rimbaud enters the poem with a vision of angels whirling in pastures of emerald and steel. And then he describes, on the left-hand side, a ridge being trampled with áll the homicides and battles a disastrous noises describing their curve.. and on the ridge to the right, the line of orients and of progress. He’s exhaling the grand, sad arc of man throughout history. I became interested in history (ancient and modern) and archaeology when I was very young and have always felt connected to these things in a very deep way. Like music, these things make my mind reel across landscapes and time. In Mystique, Rimbaud continues: while the band above the picture is composed of the revolving and rushing hum of seashells and of human nights. The flowering sweetness of the stars and of the night and all the rest descends, opposite the knoll. Like a basket, – against our face, and makes the abyss perfumed and blue below.
What imagery, what sensuality… it sent ripples of electricity through my body and mind.
Rimbaud wrote about the poet becoming a seer through a long derangement of the senses. When you’re improvising, does it feel like you’re deliberately loosening your grip on the senses, or is it something calmer than that?
Improvising creates a sort of cathartic meditative state… breaking down hesitations and barriers between mind and body and the instrument, which channels rivers of creativity… in those moments, my senses and the immediacy of my reactions to what I feel and hear from the guitar becomes intensely vibrant and incandescent… a state of being that feels very much transcendentally alive. With a guitar in low, alternate tunings… I can easily tap into the flow of that river (and it’s not just about the tunings themselves… it’s also how the entire body of the guitar vibrates differently and how particular tones resonate when the strings are in various lower tensions… which in turn creates mood and moves emotions).
I love that this record started with a bunch of flubbed takes of “Morning Song with Lucia,” where you’d stop, take a breath, and just start playing something else. That’s so great. Do you remember the first one that came out of that? Did you have a realization in the moment that something different was happening?
The core of the album began in February 2022, and the earliest improv from that session was recorded on 14 February and became the track Départ. On 15 February, I recorded the improv that became Nocturne Vulgaire. However, I recorded my first improvisations with my Sobell Model 1 in 2021, after getting the guitar. From the sessions that year, there were three recordings that I decided to include on the album: both Veillées (take 3) and A une Raison (take 4) were improvisations recorded on 10 June 2021. The improvisation that became Slow Air was recorded on 28 Sept 2021. However, with most of the tracks on this album… I didn’t realize something was happening until after I finished recording a stream of the improvisations! When I became aware that something significantly creative was happening, I dove deeper into the flow of that river. The flow of those sessions ended naturally (like the ending of a long exhalation). Subsequently, I discovered a continuity… a consistent feeling/mood with all the improvisations that had been made (as well, the recordings have a defined nostalgic feeling about them)!
Most of the songs on this record are first takes. Did you ever try to redo one, and if so, what happened when you did?
That would be Matinée d’Ivresse and Matinée d’Ivresse (Revenir). I felt connected to the raw first take, but felt I could improve on the tone, phrasing, and space of the first improvisation, and thus I felt compelled to make a return.
You recorded these pieces on a 2009 Stefan Sobell guitar. What is it that makes that instrument special, and made it right for this work?
The clarity, sustain, timbres, and overtones of this guitar are just out of this world – it was the perfect instrument for creating the atmosphere needed for these improvisations.
The sessions for Illuminations took place in Bergamo, Italy, in early 2022. Did being there change how you played at all, or does the guitar sound the same no matter where you are?
Well, as an American living in Bergamo, Italy… there’s a certain amount of anonymity and isolation that exists, which, in turn, can give focus to artistic endeavors. That reality had great influence on these improvisations. It’s similar to how I recorded Arborea’s music in Maine (especially sessions in the summer at Shagg Pond in Sumner, Maine, or during the long isolating winter months at home in Lewiston. In fact, the last couple of years of the 90s and early 2000s are when I first started tapping into that way of playing guitar, and the flow of that process has remained very consistent. And with the evolution of my playing, I can create music this way, no matter where I find myself.
One of my favorite moments on the record is on “Enfance,” where you left your daughter Lucia’s voice along with Adele walking into the room. It really adds another layer of intimacy and vulnerability. It’s beautiful. Was it an easy decision to keep those moments, or did you debate it?
Time passes so quickly, and children grow so fast! The sounds and timbres of voices (especially of loved ones and family) are so unique and intrinsic to our lives – it just felt completely natural, endearing, and relevant to leave their voices on the recording. For me, it imprints a time and place on the session and becomes something vital within the landscape of the recording. The older I get… it feels essential and imperative to one’s artistic vision to impart parts of our unique human experience within layers of recordings.
So all the track titles come from Rimbaud’s poems, and you came back to two of them with a “Revenir” or a “Coda.” Why did you want, or need, to return to those two pieces?
With Mystique and Mystique (Coda), which bookend the album – the music came first and suddenly it dawned on me that the improvisation had a connection with that particular poem – so I wanted to return to it for the coda, to present the music as a naked entity — an echo of the introduction and a return for the outro. With Revenir (Matinée d’Ivresse (Revenir) as mentioned previously, I felt like I could improve on the first take and produce an alternate version with micro shifts in timbre and space.
This is your tenth solo album. How does playing this kind of free, unplanned music feel different from working out a composed piece like the ones on some of your other records?
Well, since my years in Arborea… I have always included one or two improvisations on every album I’ve produced. Coda, the last track on Arborea’s first album Wayfaring Summer (2006), is a good example of that. I feel, after all these years, the time has come to present an entire album of acoustic guitar improvisations – something unique among my body of work.
What surprised you the most about making Illuminations?
It really took me by surprise how incredibly present, vivid, and stark it is (and surreal), producing an album of first-take improvisations – to make something without overthinking the process of creativity and subsequently discover unique and striking atmospheres and soundscapes.
And lastly, to close as always… What are some of your favorite sounds in the world?
Voices from around the world: my family and friends, singers from around the world. Singers and poets inspire my music and why I often play slide guitar or sustain single notes – searching for single notes or intervals on the guitar that create stark, beautiful timbres or ethereal overtones produced by exploring particular areas on the fretboard along the length of the strings.
The sound of water moving: creeks, rivers, the sea, the ocean. Bird songs — especially the haunting and plaintive sound of Loons on the Shagg Pond in Sumner, Maine (Ornette Coleman’s saxophone playing or Eric Dolphy’s solo flute playing gives me a similar feeling). Birds singing in the early morning in the hour before sunlight. The ephemeral silence of the Sun and Moon (at sunrise or sunset), or gazing at the stars at night. These sounds and experiences create longing and give serenity and impart feelings of grace and give greater connection to the world around us. Silence and space are equally important and give contemplative space and dramatically affect time.
Foxy Digitalis depends on our awesome readers to keep things rolling. Pledge your support today via our Patreon or subscribe to The Jewel Garden. You can also make a one-time donation via Ko-fi.
